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Mother Arthur 

A DREAM OF HOME AND MOTHER 

By ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 
November 14th, 1915 



Alone I sit in my old arm chair 

As my thoughts wander back to the past, 
To mother dear, and the old cottage home 

Where I have spent many a happy hour. 

There mother would sit in the twilight gray 
And read from that dear old book, 

Her face all radiant with a hallowed light 
As she knelt for her evening prayer. 

Her hair, so wavy, now silvery white, 
Her cheeks now sunken and wan; 

She is the dear old mother of my heax^t, 
As in days long past and gone. 

Oh ! how I yearn for her loving embrace. 
Those tender, soothing good-nights. 

As she would kneel beside my little cot. 
And with fervent prayer, ask God to 
protect her boy. 

Copyright 1915 by A, J. Robinson, Davenport, Iowa. 

.3 




ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 

Co. E, 33d Regiment, Wisconsin Infantry Volunteers 

DECORATION DAY, MAY 30 

By ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 
March 12th, 1916 

These little green mounds that we visit today, 
Are the bivouac of our soldiers dead 
Who went forth to protect the flag they loved, 
That we place on their graves today. 

With silent tread, we visit each mound. 
And place this emblem of love. 
To the memory dear of our comrades gone 
To that realm of peace and rest. 

How soon will we be mingled here, 

With our comrades in silent repose ; 

Will our memory be kept with a hallowed shrine. 

As our comrades who have passed before? 

Yes, comrades, we too will be remembered thus, 

With a tender, loving care. 

As our mortal bodies crumble to dust, 

Our memory will be kept as fresh as theirs. 

Copyright 1916 by A. J. Robinson, Davenport, Iowa. 








1862 ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 1915 

Co. E, 33d Regiment, Wisconsin Infantry V<»lunteers 

THE LITTLE BROWN BUTTON 

How dear to my heart are my treasures of childhood, 
A collection most rare that I have in store; 

But none are treasured so much or so highly 
As the modest little button my grandfather wore. 

That little brown button, that modest little button, 
That little brown button my grandfather wore. 

How oft' he would clasp me in his arms at twilight. 
And tell me the story of the great Civil War, 

How he charged the foe at the l)attle of Shiloh, 
How he won with honor the button he wore. 

That little brown button, that modest little button. 
That little brown button my grandfather wore. 

He has gone to his rest in the shade of the elms, 
Where we placed him with gentle care to repose. 

I have taken from the lapel of his old blue coat 
That modest little button that grandfather wore. 

That little brown button, that modest little button, 
That little brown button my grandfather wore. 

COPYRIGHT 19)5 BY A. J. ROBINSON. DAVENPORT. IOWA 



ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 

Author of 

Memorandum and Anecdotes of the 

Civil War 
Private Soldier's Christmas Dinner 
Little Brown Button 
A Dream of Home and Mother 
A Perfect Woman 

PASSE PARTOUT WORK DONE NEATLY 

ROOM 6, DITTOE BLOCK, COR 3D & BRADY STS. 
DAVENPORT. IOWA 



A BIRTHDAY GREETING 

To COMRADE J. P. EAGAL 
The Eagal's Nest, February 12, 1916 

In my ramble through the city north, 
One bright December day, 
I chance to spy an Eagal's nest, 
Way out on that suburban way. 

With cautious steps I wander on, 
Quite close to the Eagal's home; 
And finding there no visible life 
I rapped at the portal of the throne. 

With great surprise was I dismayed, 
As the portal opened wide. 
And there appeared the Eagal brave, 
With a welcome greeting to his home. 

With timid step I venture in. 

To find therein a mate 

Who had prepared in steaming bowl, 

A bounteous dinner spread. 

With hospitality I was made 

Their most welcome guest. 

And asked to partake of their humble board, 

With comfort, ease and rest. 

Long may my Eagal host survive. 
With his mate, so cheerful and happy. 
In their beautiful nest, so cozy and warm, 
Way out in that suburban valley. 

Copyright 1916 by A. J. Robinson, Davenport, Iowa. 

,3 



HISTORY OF OUR FLAG 



By ARTHUR J. ROBINSON 
December 7th, 1907 

Our grand old flag, composed of rags, 
As history has recorded. 
Composed is it of colors three, 
How nobly are they blended. 

In 1777, so history has stated, 
By Betsy Ross, who stitched acrost 
With hands and fingers nimble ; 
Thirteen stripes of red and white, 
A field of blue she added 
With thirteen stars assembled. 

Our forefathers old, so we have been told, 
In congress had assembled: 
And with bared heads proclaimed, it is said. 
It a symbol of Freedom and Independence. 

Oh ! long may it wave 

Over the homes of the brave. 

Over land and sea and ocean ; 

And with honor rare 

It is received everywhere. 

By every land and nation. 

Coypright 1912 by A, J. Robinson, Portland, Oregon. 



COMRADES OF FIFTY YEARS AGO 

By A. J. ROBINSON 
Davenport, Iowa, November 25, 1916. 

Should we forget those bitter days 

Of fifty years ago — 
When we marched beneath our country's flag 

To fight our country's foe 
'Twas then we came green Badger boys 

From school, and shop, and farm, 
Obeying Lincoln's bugle call 

To shield the flag from harm. 

'Twas then we donned the uniform 

Of Uncle Sam's true blue. 
With the soldier's useful flannel shirt 

And the stout old army shoe. 
'Twas then we fed the inner man 

With the good old army bean. 
With hardtack and "sow-belly" too. 

And Coffee in between. 

'Twas then that friendships close was knit 

With Alic, Orvil, and Joe, 
With Richard, Hiram, and Jack; 

And Adam, Arthur, and Frank — 
Brave comrades all, with hearts so true. 

Whom we will ne'er forget. 
Though half a century has passed 

Since we as comrades met. 

Why Alic, it's more than fifty years 

Since we boys first met in camp! 
We're grand dads now — called "old" and "gray.' 

But still of loyal stamp. 
And as we stand here, hand in hand, 

'Mid life's bright sunset rays 
We'll take a cup of coffee yet 

To the good old camp life days. 

Copyright 1916 by A. J. Robinson. 



Presented to the Family of 
COMRADE JOHN SCHIESER 

ODE OF CONDOLENCE 

Widowed mother forbear thy weeping! 
Father has gone to his immortal rest. 
All thy grief will not recall him, 
From that peaceful slumber now. 

Orphaned daughter do not mourn him! 
Father's pain and anguish now have past, 
Death has chilled his burning fever; 
All thy tears avail him naught. 

Now his comrades around him gather, 
To administer their last sad rite; 
Read the ritual service over him. 
Place their emblems on his pall. 

Now they lower him, gently lower him, 
In his hallowed bed of clay. 
He has gained his last victory; 
He has answered his last rollcall. 

Widowed mother forbear thy weeping; 
Father rests in sweet repose. 
Though thy heart ties now are broken. 
Father rests in peace sublime. 

Orphaned daughter do not mourn him. 
Father's care and sorrow now have past. 
You have still another duty 
Mother now must be your charge. 

By ARTHUR ROBINSON. 
September 15th, 1916. 



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